


Bad Idea

by maurheti



Category: Southland
Genre: Drabble, M/M, Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-10
Updated: 2013-09-10
Packaged: 2017-12-26 05:33:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/962188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maurheti/pseuds/maurheti
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ben can't stop thinking about his training officer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bad Idea

Ben shouldn’t be doing this; it’s unprofessional and inappropriate. His slicked hand has drifted down anyway, ghosting over his chest, his stomach, coming to rest on his hipbone. He takes a deep breath. It’s not too late. He can still stop. His fingers push the sheet down farther and swirl over the juncture of thigh and hip. 

_”Ben.”_

He needs to stop. It’s already difficult enough as it is sitting in the squad car next to John without adding another layer of complication. His hand is still moving, though. 

_”Come here.”_

His fingers tease at the base of his cock, still semi-soft, but he can feel the relentless flow of want moving through him. His fingers curl around his cock loosely. He should fantasize about something else.

_Blue, blue eyes leveled at him._

Ben squeezes his eyes shut, but that doesn’t erase the image of John’s face, so close Ben can see the gold flecks mixed in with the blue of John’s eyes. He should fantasize about some _one_ else. 

_John’s hands at his belt, his fly, undressing him._

John’s hands are so familiar; Ben has studied them resting on the wheel in the car, holding a gun, wrapped around a cup of coffee. Ben knows them almost as well as his own. 

_Calloused hand around his cock, thumb on the head, teasing, testing. The muscles in John’s forearm sliding smoothly under his skin, gold hairs catching the light._

Ben’s fist tightens and his breath hitches. He really doesn’t want to do this. Right. Sure. His cock is hard as a bar of pig iron. Ben can’t stop his hips from moving, even though he has managed to keep his hand still. So far.

_The head of Ben’s cock catches in the webbing between John’s thumb and index finger on every upstroke. There’s a small scar in the webbing that disappears and reappears as John jerks him off with fast, tight strokes._

Ben is going to regret this when he sees John tomorrow, he knows. But right now he’s overflowing with want and harder than he’s ever been in his life, and there’s no turning back. He fucks into his own fist, desperate now.

_”Come on, Ben. Let go.”_

Ben comes so hard it _hurts_ , all his senses spiraling out from the hot wet spill in his groin. Time compresses, expands. Ben’s hand is too much, not enough. And through it all he pictures John’s face, eyes dark with lust. 

*** * ***

All is well the next day until Ben gets caught up in a conversation outside the burger joint they just had lunch at, and John gets impatient. 

“Come on, Ben, let’s go.”

It’s close enough. Ben feels the blood rush to his cock. _Fuck._


End file.
